


Ora Pro Nobis

by HeatherAster



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: #Christmas #Contemplation #Memories #Hope #Reconciliation, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeatherAster/pseuds/HeatherAster
Summary: On a difficult day Jack is faced with difficult memories.  And yet hope rises to push back against the darkness.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher & Jack Robinson, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 84





	Ora Pro Nobis

Ora Pro Nobis.  
+++

Jack pulled open the heavy wooden door to the St. Francis Catholic Church on Lonsdale Street, and immediately regretted it. Well, maybe regret was the wrong word. Another day, another time, it would have been a welcome moment of reflection, but today, with a difficult case to solve and his emotions already frayed, he had to fight the buckle in his knees and the twist in his gut.

It wasn’t that Jack was averse to churches, Catholic or otherwise, nor any sort of religion. In fact, though he was raised Protestant, he had many friends and colleagues who were Catholic and he respected their faith. He had been inside a variety of houses of worship during his time as a police officer, and had always noticed a sense of peace and reverence within. 

No, the only thing that stopped him in his tracks today was the music. With Christmas only a few weeks away, the chancel choir was practicing for their many special services. A soprano soloist was singing, and it was a piece that, ever since the war, would drag him through memories he’d like to forget, yet leave him with a deep sense of peace.

Ave Maria.

The soloist’s voice carried the wafting, golden melody as one would hold a baby bird in their hands. The notes echoed gently off the soaring stone pillars and drifted down as peacefully as snow from the vaulted ceiling high above. Jack was transfixed, transported, and gutted. 

He found his way to a section of pew near a pillar, as if the large supporting structure would both uphold and conceal him. He set his hat on the pew beside him and leaned forward to rest his face in his hands. Finding and questioning Father MacDougal would have to wait. His eyelids fell closed, and amid the embrace of the music his mind sent him back a dozen years, to the war-torn streets of Verdun. 

+++

Jack’s brigade was marching away from the western front in an attempt to regroup with other units. They passed through the city of Verdun, which had been hit by German shelling just a few days before, and stopped for forty-eight hours at a makeshift barracks in a partially destroyed school. On the second day, his curiosity led him to take a walk through the city, dragging along one of his mates, Charlie. What they saw that day was worse than anything he’d seen yet. 

Women and children were picking through the rubble of crumbling buildings, scrambling for food, and to save any possessions they might find. Mothers were holding the lifeless bodies of their children, their keening cries like knives to the heart. The deaths of fellow soldiers was one thing – they’d all signed up for it and knew what to expect. The deaths of innocents, caught in the crossfire, was a horror Jack had not yet come into contact with. Everywhere they looked was devastation, anarchy, and soul-crushing pain. 

Jack and Charlie came to the damaged cathedral and ducked inside, hoping to find some respite from the desolation outside. Along one side of the church, between the pillars and the outside wall, a row of cots had been lined up to form a makeshift hospital. Doctors and nurses and family members attended to the wounded and dying, bustling and praying as quietly as possible, in respect to the structure they were in. 

Part of the roof had fallen in from the shelling, leaving a crater in the floor where the transept crossed the nave, as if it had been an X marking the spot. Gray light from the overcast sky filled the space near the altar, rendering the stained glass windows unnecessary and eliminating the mystic interplay of light and color they usually provided. It was a flat, gray, uninspiring scene, yet Jack and Charlie took seats in one of the pews anyway. 

Jack removed his helmet and laid it on the pew beside him and leaned forward to rest his face in his hands. The things he’d seen, the things he’d done, filled his mind with jagged, desperate images. The memories raked over his heart like a rusty saw, tearing through any shred of innocence he had left. Darkness descended and tears of futility dripped to the floor between his boots. 

In the midst of his despair, a voice like an angel rose to his consciousness. Jack looked up, and there, standing in the pulpit, was a young woman of about sixteen, sending her beautiful voice across the bombed-out void of the cathedral. 

Light and airy, grave and mystical, the melody reached out to him, its tendrils wrapping around his heart like a gossamer ribbon. The words, sung in Latin, glided over the notes in round and resonant shapes, like soap bubbles floating in the sun. Jack knew the song, recognized the religious message, and understood the meaning. It reached into the dryness of his soul and filled it with the holy water of a prayer. A prayer of faith, and a prayer of hope. 

Ave Maria.

Childhood memories of attending church with his grandparents, especially at Christmas, filtered to the surface of Jack’s mind. The stories of salvation, faith, and God’s goodness seemed so far away from the depravity of a war in which they were all trapped. Yet, in this hour of darkness, a young woman, a still-vulnerable victim of the anger and egos of powerful men, had enough hope to sing. 

Ora pro nobis peccatoribus,  
Nunc et in hora mortis.

Pray for us sinners,  
Now and in the hour of our death. 

Jack had seen enough death to last a hundred lifetimes. He’d seen the bodies on the battlefield, the empty eyes of survivors, and the despair of grieving mothers. He had caused death himself, from the barrel of his own rifle, leaving mothers in other countries to grieve, and becoming ultimately culpable in the sins of war. It was enough to make him want to join the dead rather than suffer the death of others while still living.

And yet, hope still arrived to push back against despair. Even in the hour of death, there was hope in the voice of a young woman and the words she was singing. The longer she sang, the lighter Jack felt, as if the wretched load he’d been carrying was being lifted off his back brick by brick. Watching the girl sing, he was no longer trying to hide his tears. They rolled freely down his face as his heart clung to the promise: 

Dominus tecum. The Lord is with thee. 

The girl finished singing and stood there a moment while the last note echoed softly against the walls of the cathedral until there was nothing but silence again. Jack wiped his eyes and face with his hands, and when he looked up again, she was gone. He thought he caught a glimpse of her through the gaping hole in the side of the cathedral, climbing over the rubble toward the street, but he wasn’t sure. 

“Did you see which way she went?” he asked Charlie.

“Which way who went?” 

“The girl, the one who was singing Ave Maria just now.”

“There weren’t no girl singin’, Jacko,” Charlie replied. “Just you and me in this ruined church. I was just waiting for you to quit crying like a baby so we could get back to barracks before mess.”

Jack looked at his compatriot in utter disbelief. 

“What do you mean there was no girl?” Jack insisted. “I saw her up there in the pulpit, singing Ave Maria.”

“Nah, mate,” Charlie said. “The only sound was you, bawlin’ yer eyes out.”

“I wasn’t bawling my eyes out,” Jack defended, embarrassed now that Charlie had seen him in such a state.

“Yeh, you were,” Charlie said, draping a comforting arm over Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We all do sooner or later. Had my big cry last week. Thought I was being weak. But Staff Sergeant Hollins found me behind the latrine and told me it was all right. Said it’s normal, and you’ll feel better afterward.”

“Maybe so,” Jack sniffed. “And you’re sure there was no girl singing Ave Maria?”

“If there was, I’d’a noticed,” Charlie said. “C’mon. Don’t wanna miss dinner. I hear they’re serving steak and potatoes,” he winked and nudged Jack’s arm to emphasize his joke.

“Righto,” Jack said, collecting his helmet and following Charlie out of the pew. He glanced back at the pulpit, in case the girl had returned, but he knew she wouldn’t. In the years that followed, however, she returned to his thoughts and dreams when things were particularly dark and dreadful. 

+++

Phryne pulled open the heavy wooden door to the St. Francis Catholic Church on Lonsdale Street and looked around. She had expected to find Jack questioning Father MacDougal but neither was anywhere to be seen. She scanned her eyes across the expanse of the church as she moved toward the center aisle, and finally saw Jack sitting next to one of the support pillars. 

His back was hunched over and his head was in his hands, and Phryne had never seen him in such a somber position. She had raced after him, hoping to heal the rift their argument had caused, and clear up any misunderstandings. Finding him this way only increased the ache in her heart as she worried this last argument had been a bridge too far and Jack would never forgive her. As cavalier as she often was about the law and the rules and general societal norms, she never wanted to embarrass or discredit Jack professionally. This time, she feared she had. 

She moved quietly and slid into the pew behind his, on the other end of the row, and waited, watching to make sure he was all right. She listened as the soloist was finishing up a lovely rendition of Ave Maria, and allowed herself a moment of quiet reflection. She’d always considered it a song of hope, and while she didn’t ascribe to any religion and her definition of sinner was, at times, flexible, she knew she’d sinned against Jack. 

Ora pro nobis peccatoribus,  
Nunc et in hora mortis.

Pray for us sinners,  
Now and in the hour of our death.

Would this be the death of her relationship with Jack? Had she committed the unpardonable sin against him and all they had worked to build thus far?

The soloist finished and stepped down from the pulpit, rejoining the choir, and Phryne watched as Jack wiped his eyes with a handkerchief and blew his nose. More ache squeezed her heart as she realized he’d been crying. Would she ever be able to make it up to him? She sat still as a stone except for her hands wringing the edge of her sweater in her lap. 

+++

Jack sat up straight, tucked his handkerchief back inside his jacket, and breathed a heavy sigh. He would have to face Phryne soon, and do whatever it took to work things out. Even though she had embarrassed him in front of the Deputy Commissioner, and he had every right to be angry, she didn’t deserve the vehemence with which he’d lashed out at her afterward. The case was difficult, he was short on sleep, and hadn’t eaten since that single slice of toast at breakfast and it was already after three. None of that excused his sharp tongue, however. He sighed again, wondering if she would even let him in the front door. 

A quiet sniff from behind his right shoulder caught his attention and he turned his head. There she was, head down, dabbing at her eyes with her own handkerchief, and the knot in Jack’s heart unwound with hope and love. 

“Phryne,” he whispered, as he stood up to go sit next to her. 

“Jack,” she replied, looking up at him and holding out her hand. He took it as he sat down, and with the other hand reached up and brushed a tear off her cheek with his thumb. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have been so ugly toward you. I apologize.”

“No, I’m the one who should apologize,” she said quickly. “I should not have said what I did in front of the Deputy Commissioner.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Jack said with a lopsided smile. “He likes to think he’s better than everyone anyway. As long as he doesn’t feel threatened, he’ll leave me alone to do my job.”

“But, Jack,” Phryne protested, believing hers was the worse offense.

“Shh,” Jack put a finger to her lips, as she’d done many times to him. “I forgive you if you’ll forgive me.”

“You are always forgiven with me.”

“Then there really is hope for us sinners after all,” he said, cocking his head toward the choir to indicate the last song. She nodded and smiled, understanding him perfectly. 

“C’mon,” he said after a moment of shared smiles. “Let’s go find Father MacDougal and solve this damn case.”

+++


End file.
